


The Door to the Gallery

by annablossom4703



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Short Story, When you meet your soulmate you see colour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annablossom4703/pseuds/annablossom4703
Summary: An artist reflects on their past, their present, and their soulmate as they walk to the gallery with their latest exhibit.





	The Door to the Gallery

My mother always told me that when you first lock eyes with your soulmate, you’ll see colour. But I never understood what colour is, let alone what a soulmate is. My mother had once tried to explain these things to me, but her descriptions were confusing, so I pretended to understand and never asked her again.

I think about my mother’s words every now and then. She was young when she had me, far too young to be a mother, and I’m not really sure she knew what she was doing. My father, her supposed soulmate, left when I was about four and never came back. My mother spent most of my childhood waiting for him to come back. I don’t think he ever will.

My new gallery exhibit was set to open that night, but I was simply going through the motions at that point. My art had once been daring and a way to escape into a new headspace; now it was a chore and something I did just to keep the people around me happy. “A bold choice of colour,” critics had called it. “Something beyond the imagination’s comprehension,” a particular magazine had described my newest work. At least the world seemed to enjoy my work.

Truthfully, I still could not see colour, so all my artwork was the choice of chance. It had worked out for me so far, so I was not unhappy. But what did the rest of the world see that I was missing? I wasn’t even allowed to pick my own outfits; all that had to be done by my assistant, who could see colour. I always got compliments on my attire at events, so my assistant is excellent in that area, but it’d be nice to choose my own clothes for once.

The rain pattered softly against the windows of the hotel room. My assistant finished helping me prepare for the evening, letting me practice my speech as I dressed. The words didn’t feel like my own, like someone had written them and someone else was saying them. Then my assistant handed me an umbrella and a coat, explaining that our ride would arrive to take us to the gallery soon. I nodded, but I’m not sure I really heard what was being said. Then, I was alone in the room. I looked in the mirror. My face was the same, but I didn’t feel like I was looking at myself.

I pulled on the coat and told my assistant I would wait for the ride in the lobby. I grabbed the umbrella and started towards the elevator. No. I wanted to take the stairs. The stairwell was cold and drafty, but that didn’t matter as I descended the winding stairs to the lobby, the umbrella thumping against my leg as I walked.

Once in the lobby, an employee told me the ride would be arriving soon, as it had been delayed slightly due to the rain. I thanked the employee and asked them to tell the driver and my assistant that I had decided to talk to the gallery. The employee said they would pass the message along.

The rain was cool to the touch, but I opened the umbrella and started walking. The lights from the buildings lit up the sky and the wet ground. If I had had time, I would have stopped to wonder what colours others saw, but I had to be at the gallery. As I walked, I thought about my mother’s words. What would she have thought of this city? Would she be proud of my work?

Standing outside the gallery doors with an umbrella in my hand was all I had wanted to do that night. People pushed and shoved past me, telling me off for getting in their way, but all I could see were the hanging posters advertising for my art at the gallery. I turned back to look at the people around me. I met eyes with more than a few people as they walked away. When I turned back to face the posters, they looked different, and I suddenly understood what colour was. And that I would never create again.


End file.
